Chapter Text
Things had changed for Fred. It wasn't even just that he was an official drop out. Or even that he had started his own business. Or even that said business was about to open their doors.
"I, Fredrick Gideon Weasley–"
It was how Sirius was dead.
"–do so solemnly swear–"
It was how his baby sister and brother and their friends broke into the ministry.
"–to use my magic–"
It was how the Prophet finally published Voldemort's return.
"–to serve and protect the wizarding world–"
It was the dead cold fear in the eyes of wizards and witches he saw in the streets of Diagon and how parents cracked wilting smiles at their children.
"–and fight against the greatest evils–"
It was everything that happened.
"–as a member of the Order of the Phoenix."
Dumbledore gave him a smile and tapped his wand against his left shoulder. Then his right. Magic swelled and burst, running up and down his spine. It held him and it cradled him. When it faded, he looked over to Mum who was watching with blanket fear, not so dissimilar from the parents he saw. Good Godrich, what was the fuck was becoming of their world?
"And so, we shall welcome our newest members," Dumbledore clapped lightly. There was a mixed amount of grumbling and hesitant applause. Fred looked over at George. They were the youngest members by several years – Charlie technically being the next youngest – and many of the older members were not keen on the idea of allowing newly graduated Hogwarts runts being inducted. But Fred knew that he and George didn't have much of a choice. They had to fight. He caught Remus's eye who gave a small smile and nod which bolstered Fred a little. Even though Remus was still clearly grieving, he was still able to do that much. "As we do, let us make haste with our proceedings. Kingsley?"
And Shacklebot took the floor. Fred listened as they droned, not too much to do, though he itched to do something. But he was hardly in the minority, everyone was chomping at the bit. And he wondered how much wisdom they carried from the last war. He wondered what they saw. He remembered Sirius's haunting stories and it made him shiver.
"Oh, my boys." Mum hugged him and George tightly once the meeting concluded. "Isn't there anything I can say to convince you?"
"It's too late, Molly dear. They're of age. And they've sworn in." Dad patted her shoulder consolingly, a reluctantly dedicated supporter of their ambition.
"Don't worry, mum." Fred rubbed her back, doing his best to comfort her, secretly relishing her warmth. It reassured him that maybe everything will be okay, as long as they have each other. Family was everything. He was, after all, doing this for everyone he considered family (on top of it being the right thing to do).
"We're clever lads." George locked eyes with Fred over Mum's shoulder.
"Much too clever I'd say." She replied and only hugged them tighter. Her affection embarrassed him, but, at the same time, he couldn't find it within himself to care if the other Order members saw this. Surely, they would see this display as a sure symptom that they weren't old enough, needing their dear mummy for hugs and snuggles. But he didn't care what they thought, his mum need his comfort. And he needed it from her too.
Things had changed for Lottie, and things would continue to change. She knew that time only marched forward and each step took her closer and closer to her doom. Not that she wasn't already (doomed, that is), being trapped in the house with her dying father and caught in the turmoil of political tensions of the wizarding world. There was little hope for her survivability in a war, if and when it broke out. Especially considering her only safety net was on the verge of death.
Her upcoming inheritance as Lady of the House was no longer an obligation. It, along with whatever horrible future Fate had determined for her, was an inevitability.
"Father." She greeted solemnly.
The grunt her father gave was weak. Taking in a deep breath, she continued in. She pulled out her wand and cleaned up the room a bit. Drawing the curtains open, vanishing the old tea, doing all these small things. Poppy wouldn't be happy, but Lottie didn't care all that much. She was jittery and needed to use her energy for something. At his bedside table was a stack of letters, still unopened. She picked up the pile, but stilled when she read the name of the sender for the one at the top. Amycus Carrow. Swallowing, she turned away, abandoning the task, willing the name and any errant thoughts related to it to leave her.
Instead, her eyes tracked to the headline of the Daily Prophet that had been sitting just below the letters: 'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS'. It only set off a whole new set of nerves through her body.
What sort of world was about to emerge from this?
What world had already emerged?
But there was no point in ruminating over it. She threw the letters back onto the Prophet, completely abandoning her task of tidying up to focus on regulating her heartbeat and her breaths.
By the time she'd recomposed herself, Edgar had managed to right himself into something resembling a seated position and was calling on Poppy for a new tray of tea and biscuits. Lottie dutifully sat at the armchair beside his bed before finally looking at him. His skin was a sickly pale, a little green. The bags under his eyes had deepened and darkened, outlining the redness of his eyes and muddling the brilliant color that normally shined. He'd lost a lot of weight and his skin sagged at the sudden change.
Overall, he looked like utter shite and Lottie hoped that when she died that she'd at least have a little more grace and dignity. She doubted it. Her mother had not looked much better, and she'd been nearly four decades younger at her death than Edgar was right now. But a girl could dream.
Poppy returned with the tray, fixed them a cup each, and disappeared.
Edgar coughed. It was wet and disgusting.
"Your exam result?"
"As expected." She replied grimly. Not that it would matter anyway. Nothing more than a single O on top of nothing that would do anything for her. For a moment (and in the deep trenches of the night) she thought that perhaps she should have prepared better. Yes, she was about to inherit a small fortune, but it was by no means going to keep her comfortable.
Briefly, she blamed her father. If only Edgar held any opinion about her lack of educational merit, if only he had mentioned it in the past and made her change her ways. But he did not. That duty had solely fallen on Godiva, and Lottie had never listened to her mother. Maybe she would have, if Edgar had decided to supersede his will onto her, it was within his rights as Master of the House.
Or maybe she wouldn't have.
It didn't matter anyway.
This was where she was.
Edgar reached for the stack of letters, and pulled only the one at the top. He looked about as excited to open it as she felt. It was unusual for him to leave letters unanswered, so she wondered if he had seen the name and promptly gave up on finishing the task. He stared at it for a long while, his slow blinking and wheezing breaths the only indication that he was still alive. And Lottie wondered what he was thinking, what he was dreading, why he was–
“After I die, they will give you time to grieve. But, in time, they will approach you." He finally said, looking over at her with a horrible expression. "And they will ask you to join the Dark Lord.”
And, as was now becoming a tradition, Edgar upended her world with a couple of sentences.
There was no escaping this.